


my mind's still wrapped around you

by restitched (beingothrwrldly)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:32:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingothrwrldly/pseuds/restitched
Summary: “He doesn't even watch hockey,” Mitch says. “He was like, ‘oh yeah, I think I've seen a couple games.’ IthinkI've seen acouplegames?”“How do youthinkthat?” Shawn sits up in bed and leans back against the headboard. “Wouldn't you at leastknowif you'd seen a couple games?”(Or, the one where Shawn and Mitch broke up but are still super good friends, even though it's hard.)





	my mind's still wrapped around you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortymaliks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/gifts).



> To my sweet Ginny!! As you know, this was just a dumb email explaining why Shawn/Mitch is the REALEST, but then somehow this happened. Surprise! I'm sorry but also I'm not sorry at all. You're the best, I hope you like this!
> 
> Mostly inspired by that picture of Shawn in that Leafs sweater at the home opener as well as his song Why, which is something I'm frequently yelling at myself these days.
> 
> Thanks to Erin as ALWAYS for reading this and being amazing!! Any remaining mistakes are mine, and the title comes from When You're Ready by, who else, Shawn Mendes.
> 
> Finally, if you are anyone in this story or know anyone in this story, GO AWAY.

In London, it’s two in the morning when Shawn’s phone rings. He doesn't check to see who's calling before he answers, because he already knows. “Hi.”

Across the ocean, Mitch sighs. “Hi.”

“Uh oh,” Shawn says, smiling. “Didn't go well, eh?”

“He doesn't even watch hockey,” Mitch says. “He was like, ‘oh yeah, I think I've seen a couple games.’ I _think_ I've seen a _couple_ games?”

“How do you _think_ that?” Shawn sits up in bed and leans back against the headboard. “Wouldn't you at least _know_ if you'd seen a couple games?”

“ _Exactly_ my point!” Mitch sighs again, and Shawn closes his eyes. “And he did this thing, where every sentence sounded like a question. Like, every sentence? Even statements were questions? You know?”

Shawn laughs. “That's maybe a little nitpicky,” he says. 

“I mean, _every_ sentence,” Mitch says. “Not an exaggeration. I couldn't figure out what he was asking and what he was telling.”

“Maybe he was nervous,” Shawn says. “I mean, you're a superstar.”

“See, this is why I call you,” Mitch says softly. “But he doesn't know me from hockey, don't forget that part.”

“Riiight,” Shawn says, laughing to try and hide his yawn. “Sorry, that's right. No excuse, then.”

Mitch laughs, too. “Were you sleeping? I'm sorry, I know it's like, two in the morning on the moon or wherever you are.”

“I wasn't sleeping,” Shawn says softly. “And it's London, not the moon.”

“May as well be the moon,” Mitch says, just as softly.

“I don't think you should let them set you up with anybody else,” Shawn says. “Your teammates. They're so bad at it.”

“Fucking right, they are,” Mitch says. 

“Where'd they find this one?” Shawn asks. 

“Friend of a friend,” Mitch says. “I think Mo knows his roommate or something.”

“They are so bad at knowing who's _good_ for you,” Shawn says. “Remember the guy who watched _too_ much hockey?”

“Blasphemous, but yes, I do,” Mitch says glumly. “And he didn't even like the Leafs, like have I got news for you, my dude.”

“And there was the time they set you up with a girl,” Shawn says. 

“Oh my god, that poor girl, I _know_ ,” Mitch groans. “I still feel so bad about that one.”

“D’you think maybe they're messing with you?” 

“Wouldn't it explain _so much_ if they were?” Mitch is quiet for a minute. “I really don't think they are. I think they _honestly_ think one of these will stick. They really mean well, that's the saddest part of the whole thing. They've roped Tavares in now, did I tell you that? He's got some friend from back in New York he wants to introduce me to, like. I should just put my foot down, start saying no.”

Shawn tries to picture Mitch, at home in Toronto, probably with the TV on mute in the living room. “Why didn't you Skype me,” Shawn says, “can we switch over to Skype?”

“Didn't want to catch you in a compromising position, bud,” Mitch says, laughing a little. “You want me to Skype?” 

“I'll call you, just give me a second.” Shawn hangs up without saying goodbye, and a second later Mitch sends him a text that just says, _rude_. 

Shawn turns his laptop on and runs a hand through his hair while he calls Mitch. “Did you get my text? You are the rudest person I know,” is how Mitch greets him when the call connects. “How hard is it to say goodbye before you slam the phone down?”

Shawn rolls his eyes. “I didn't slam the phone down. Is _anybody_ more dramatic than you?” he asks. “That's a serious question.”

“Were you lying about being asleep?” Mitch’s voice changes a little and its softer, somehow. “You look sleepy.”

“Kinda, maybe,” Shawn says. “I wasn't like, _sleeping_.”

“Ohhh,” Mitch says, and he grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “ _I_ see. You weren't _sleeping_ , were you doing something else?”

“Fuck off,” Shawn says, laughing, “I was in bed, but awake. Waiting for your call.” 

Mitch laughs too, and his eyes get crinkled at the corners in the way that Shawn only ever sees when nobody else is around. “Ohh, I see, you're probably in on this massive prank to set Mitch up on the absolute worst dates, eh?”

“Ah, shit,” Shawn says. “Now I have to tell the boys you figured it out.”

Mitch is smiling at the screen, and he's still wearing a collared shirt. Shawn can see his top button is undone, and Shawn squints at the screen. “What'd you do, call me the minute you walked in the door?”

“So what if I did?” Mitch tilts his head a little. 

“You didn't even change first,” Shawn says. 

“It was a shitty date,” Mitch says quietly. 

Shawn watches him. His hair is shorter than it was the last time they talked. Shawn hates that he still notices shit like that without trying. “It's okay, if you did,” he says, finally. 

“I just needed to vent before I lie to Hyman and Matts,” Mitch says. “Maybe I'll tell them he talked shit about you and your music.”

“Oh fuck, there’s your dealbreaker,” Shawn laughs. 

Mitch laughs. “That's _always_ my dealbreaker, hard and fast.” He sighs and lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, and Shawn tries very hard not to study the curve of his throat. “Ohhhh, Shawny,” Mitch says, even though Shawn knows that _Mitch_ knows that Shawn fucking hates being called that. “My life would be so much easier if we were still together. Remind me, why aren't we still together?”

There it is.

It doesn't hurt quite as much as it used to, when Mitch says that. It’s not like Mitch had been the one to break things off, after all, and it's not like Mitch hadn't kept fighting for them, even after Shawn had already thrown in the towel. Shawn figures Mitch kind of has the right to say things like that sometimes. 

But it’s late and they're both tired, and Shawn feels too vulnerable, so he gives the same canned answers as always, says, “Distance. Time. Schedules.” Then he's quiet for a minute, and he adds, softer, “I don't know.”

“Stupid reasons,” Mitch says softly. “Legit, but stupid.”

Shawn looks down at his hands and smiles a little. “Totally fucking stupid,” he says softly.

“Is this part of your master plan, too?” Mitch asks. Shawn doesn't look up just yet but he knows Mitch is smiling, just a little. “You're telling the boys to keep setting me up with awful people and then you're gonna swoop in, sweep me off my feet?”

Shawn studies his hands and waits for Mitch to finish, but when he doesn't say anything else Shawn looks up at the screen. Mitch is watching him. He is smiling. “You figured it out,” Shawn says, smiling back. “Gotta get you back somehow.” 

“Go big or go home,” Mitch says quietly. He sounds vulnerable, tired. Shawn’s heart is pounding in his ears. “Wouldn't have to try that hard, you know. Right people, wrong time. However that saying goes.”

“What, you and me?” Shawn asks, a little afraid of what Mitch might say.

Mitch just nods. 

“Yeah,” Shawn says honestly. It kills him to say it out loud, but he knows it only hurts that much because it's true. “Yes.”

Mitch clears his throat, looking away from the camera. “When do you come home?” he asks, his voice stronger. “My mom was asking.”

“Oh, your mom was asking,” Shawn echoes, smiling. “Not you.”

“She was,” Mitch says. “Number one fan of Shawn Mendes, she knows I have a connection.” He smiles and rests his cheek on his shoulder. “I mean, I'm wondering too, but she wants to do a dinner thing.”

“Couple weeks,” Shawn says. “The twenty-fourth.”

“Oh hey,” Mitch says, lighting up, “I'm home that week! Through Thursday!”

Shawn knows that; he has tickets to the games on Monday and Wednesday. “Guess I've gotta pencil you in, then,” Shawn says. “Or your mom, maybe.”

“Maybe both,” Mitch says. “Dinner with my folks on Sunday, maybe dinner with me on Tuesday?”

“For sure, yeah.” Shawn nods. His stomach flips when Mitch smiles. 

“Cool,” Mitch says softly. “You want any tickets? I know a guy, I can hook you up.” 

“Already covered, bud,” Shawn says, grinning. “I wasn't gonna say anything.”

“No way, which one?” Mitch is smiling so big that Shawn’s chest hurts, and he has to look away. 

“Monday and Wednesday,” Shawn says to the ceiling. 

“Monday _and_ Wednesday, oh my god,” Mitch repeats, and when Shawn works up the nerve to look back at the screen, Mitch looks so happy. “I'll get to see you so many times. You want me to get you a Marner jersey?” 

Shawn already has one. He bought it during the seven weeks after they broke up when Mitch wouldn't return any of his calls. He doesn't think Mitch knows that. 

“I know the boys would love to see you,” Mitch continues. He doesn't seem to notice Shawn didn't answer. “Stick around after on Monday, I'll have somebody bring you back.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shawn says. 

“I should let you go,” Mitch says, and to Shawn it sounds like he doesn't really want to. “I've got a workout super early tomorrow. Sorry to keep you up so late.”

“Never apologize for that,” Shawn says. “Sorry about your crappy date.”

Mitch waves a hand. “Nah, it’s cool,” he says, smiling a little. “I feel better about it now. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”

&

Shawn gets home just after noon on Saturday. He unpacks and does about a hundred loads of laundry, and he doesn't turn his phone on until dinner.

There are eleven texts from Mitch. The first one says, _if u think im not tracking ur flight ur nuts, u better call when you land!!_ and the last one says, _ok u have been home for like 3hrs and u HAVENT called me yet and now i have a game so we're fighting._

Mitch sent it almost an hour ago but Shawn calls him anyway. When Mitch answers, Shawn can tell immediately from the background noise that he's in the dressing room. “Mitchell,” Shawn says. “Why the fuck are you answering your phone before a game?”

“You _called_ me, shithead,” Mitch says. “Why the fuck are you calling me before a game??”

“To leave you a voicemail!” Shawn is smiling. 

“I'm not gonna listen to a voicemail,” Mitch mutters, but Shawn knows he would, and from the way he sounds Shawn can tell he's smiling too. He hates knowing this stuff. “What the fuck do you want, you're distracting me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Shawn laughs. “Just wanted to wish you luck, that's it.”

“Didn't you get my text that we’re fighting?” There's rustling on the phone. “You wanna come to the game? I've got _nobody_ here watching me tonight, I'm feeling fully neglected and kinda rattled, honestly.”

Shawn is exhausted. He's still on Europe time. He’ll see Mitch tomorrow, for dinner with Mitch’s parents, and he’s too tired to go to the game, and he hates when they play the Flyers, and he really needs to order groceries and finish his laundry and catch up on sleep and get back on schedule, but.

He's also too tired to say no.

“Is it too late?” he asks, and he walks down the hall to his bedroom to find something to wear. 

Mitch groans. “Oh my _god_ ,” he says, laughing. “I _knew_ you were using me.”

Shawn laughs too. “You _offered_!” he says. “And laid on a super guilt trip.”

“I know, but it's the Flyers,” Mitch says, almost apologetically, because of course he knows how Shawn feels about the Flyers. “And you just got home.”

Shawn finds an old Leafs shirt that he's pretty sure was Mitch’s. “I know, and I’d be giving up so much sleep to come see you and stress about watching you play,” he says, “so you should be really fucking grateful and stop fighting with me.”

“Okaaay, okay,” Mitch says. “I'll send you the tickets, you want more than one?”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “send one for my girlfriend, too.”

He hears Mitch inhale sharply on the other end of the phone, and there's a long pause. “I'm _joking_ ,” Shawn says carefully, but his head is suddenly spinning.

Mitch is quiet for a second too long before he laughs. “You're an asshole,” he says, but he doesn't sound close to meaning it. 

“One ticket’s good,” Shawn says. “I didn't mean to—” He always feels bad when he messes with Mitch, but he really regrets doing it so close to the game.

“It's alright,” Mitch says quietly. “Sending it over now. Hang around after, okay, if I don't get to see you I might actually die.”

&

The Leafs lose to the Flyers, four to one, and Shawn feels partly responsible but Mitch does get an assist on their only goal. He winds up in the penalty box twice, too, and Shawn's seat is close enough where he can watch Mitch in there, laughing with everybody in the box like it's the best place on earth. “It's like the best seat to watch the game from!” he'd told Shawn once, when Shawn had asked why he's so happy to be off the ice. “Plus those guys, I mean. They love me.”

Who _doesn't_ , Shawn thinks now, as Mitch doubles over laughing at something one of the guys says. He's never felt so epically, massively _stupid_. 

Shawn hangs back after the game ends and the crowd files out of the arena, turning his phone screen on and off, until a guy in a suit shows up to bring him back to the dressing room. 

Shawn knows the hallways too well and could find his way himself but he follows the guy anyway, dragging his fingers over the wall as they round the corner. The guy gestures towards Mitch, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room in his street clothes, and Shawn thanks him before he walks away. 

Mitch is standing on one foot with his other foot braced flat against the wall. He has his headphones on and is typing on his phone, his hair damp from the shower, and he's wearing a dark blue t-shirt that definitely doesn't emphasize any part of his body and _definitely_ not his shoulders. 

Shawn watches him for a minute before walking over to him. Mitch is completely engrossed in his phone and doesn't notice him until Shawn kicks the side of his foot, and when he glances up his whole face lights up and Shawn’s stomach does cartwheels. 

“Hey, hi! I was waiting for you!” Mitch says, pulling his headphones off to hang them around his neck, and he pushes off from the wall and wraps Shawn in a hug. Mitch is warm and he hugs with his entire body, and Shawn doesn't really rank hugs but if he had to, hugs from Mitch would be his favorite by a long shot. “Did they let you come back by yourself?”

Shawn laughs and hugs back, slouching his shoulders a little to make up for the couple inches difference. “Of course not,” he says. Mitch smells exactly the same as he always does after a game, like ivory soap and ice, and his music is loud enough where Shawn can hear one of his own songs playing from Mitch’s headphones. “How's it going?”

Mitch steps back and nods. “Eh, I wish we'd fought a little harder. Four to one, man. That sucks.”

“That one goal, though.” Shawn puts his hands in his pockets because he wants to keep touching Mitch and he doesn't know what else to do with them. He always forgets how hard it is to be around Mitch in person, because Shawn _constantly_ wants to be touching him. 

“Sick, right?” Mitch grins. “I was like, damn, I hope Shawny saw that.”

Shawn laughs. “ _Stop_ calling me that,” he says, but even though he hates it, he secretly loves it. 

Mitch scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, and his smile is brighter than the sun. “Sucks less, knowing you're here, though.” His eyes drop down to Shawn’s t-shirt, lightning-quick, and then back up to meet Shawn’s eyes. “That is for _sure_ my shirt, bud.”

“I didn't have time to find anything else,” Shawn says. “I wear this all the time, is it yours?” It has the number 16 on the sleeve and it's a size smaller than he normally wears. It's definitely Mitch's shirt. 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “I told you I'd get you a jersey,” he says. “Come say hi, some of the guys are still here.”

“I have a jersey,” Shawn says before he can stop himself. 

“Yeah, I meant a Marner jersey, not whichever subpar jersey you have.” Mitch pauses his music. 

“I have one,” Shawn says again. He watches Mitch, but Mitch just looks at him for a second too long and then shoves his phone in his pocket. 

“Come say hi,” he says again, softer, and he reaches out and touches Shawn’s wrist. 

Hyman is still in the room, and Matthews, and they seem happy to see him but they keep exchanging these looks that make Shawn feel super self-conscious. Mitch doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does because he's standing a little closer to Shawn than he normally would, which just makes Shawn even more self-conscious.

And then Matthews asks if they want to grab dinner and Mitch says, “Nah, we've got dinner plans already,” and Shawn didn't know they had dinner plans and he feels more overwhelmed than he already did.

Hyman looks at Matthews and then back and forth between Mitch and Shawn, grinning big, and then Matthews says, “Oh, _do_ you.”

Shawn looks back at Mitch, and Mitch nods and quirks an eyebrow imperceptibly, so Shawn says, a little too loud, “Yes.”

Matthews coughs around a laugh and says, “Cool, well. It was really good to see you again.” It's overwhelmingly genuine and Shawn feels like it's absolutely loaded with deeper meaning, and then Mitch grabs his bag and Shawn’s hand and says, “Okay, boys, byeee.”

In the hallway, the air is cold. 

Mitch doesn't let go of Shawn's hand, so Shawn falls into step next to him and doesn't let go either.

“Mitch,” Shawn says. 

“I probably should've asked you first,” Mitch says. “About dinner. I know it's late.”

“Mitchell,” Shawn says, squeezing his hand twice like a heartbeat. 

“Sorry,” Mitch says softly. He loosens his grip on Shawn’s hand but Shawn tightens his grip and still doesn't let go. “Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Shawn says. “Dinner would be really nice.”

&

They end up at a pizza place near Shawn’s apartment. They used to come here all the time, before - it's hardly ever busy and nobody ever bothers them, plus the pizza is good and Mitch doesn't complain about how greasy it is and how he shouldn't be eating it.

Shawn orders them a veggie pizza to split and says without thinking, “No mushrooms on half,” before he turns to Mitch and says, “Still no mushrooms, right?”

Mitch has his hands in his pockets and he nods. “Yeah.” 

Mitch has been quieter than normal since they left the arena. Shawn doesn't know what to think about that. 

They sit at a booth in the back corner and Mitch presses his hands flat on the table. Everything feels familiar and comfortable and Shawn thinks back to the dozens of times they've been here, in this exact booth after tough practices or big shows, after wins and losses and red eye flights. There are a million memories in this place, all over Toronto but especially here, and Shawn laces his hands together in his lap. He feels empty, somehow, sitting across from Mitch; Mitch had dropped his hand when their Uber showed up at the arena and the absence of physical contact is overwhelming. 

“Everything okay?” Shawn finally asks. “You're acting kinda weird.”

Mitch shakes his head a little and says, “It's nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Shawn says quietly. “Come on, what?”

“Remember when I wanted to carve our initials into the table here?” Mitch asks. Shawn watches him as he traces along the wood grain with his finger. 

“Yeah,” Shawn says. “Right before you left for the draft. You asked to borrow my Swiss Army knife.” He pauses. “Which, I mean. I've _never_ had one of those, I don't know why you thought I had one that night.” He's trying to make Mitch laugh, but he's pretty sure it's not going to work. The mood feels weird. 

Mitch does laugh, a little. “That night was so fucking scary,” he says. “Did you think we would last forever?”

Shawn doesn't answer, because that whole year had been an absolute whirlwind. He barely knows now what will last forever; he barely knew anything at seventeen. “I don't know,” he says honestly. 

“I thought we would,” Mitch says quietly. “I really thought we would.”

“What's this about,” Shawn says, very quiet, and Mitch sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair, lacing his hands together at the back of his head. 

“It's just, you saw that _look_ ,” he says.

“What, back in the room?” Shawn watches Mitch. 

“Yeah,” Mitch nods. “Like.”

“It was just a look,” Shawn says. It didn't feel like just a look, but maybe it wasn't just a look.

“They think...” Mitch says quietly. He's looking down at the table. “I don't know.”

“They think what,” Shawn says, and he reaches over and taps Mitch on the elbow. “Hey.”

Mitch looks up at him finally and Shawn feels like Mitch can read his mind. He's not sure that Mitch _can't_. “I never stopped loving you,” Mitch says quietly. “You know? I miss you so much that my chest hurts, like. You know that feeling, when it doesn't _hurt_ but it still hurts?”

Shawn doesn't know what to say but he knows that feeling too well, so he just nods. 

“Everybody still asks me about you,” Mitch continues. “My parents love you. You're still friends with my family on Facebook. My friends ask about you, everybody.”

“I'm sorry,” Shawn says, because he _is_. “The way things happened—”

“It wasn't like you were _wrong_ , you know?” Mitch says. “You're so fucking busy, and I'm so fucking busy, and we’re never in the same place at the same time. I haven't seen you since May and it's fucking _November._ ”

“I'm still sorry for the way it happened,” Shawn says. “And that it happened at all, I'm sorry that this is the way things are. I...” 

Mitch watches him. “You what?”

Shawn isn't sure how to say all the things he wants to say. He feels like the ground beneath them is cracking like ice, and he's afraid they'll never come up for air if they go under. 

The waiter brings their pizza then, and Shawn thanks him while Mitch just keeps watching Shawn. When they're alone again, Mitch says, “Shawn. You what?”

“You can't possibly think I don't still love you, too,” Shawn says quietly, passing Mitch a napkin. “Sometimes it gets to be so much that I feel like I can't catch my breath.”

Their fingers brush as Mitch takes the napkin, and it feels like an electric shock. 

“My parents still love you, too,” Shawn says. “My sister asks about you all the time. It's like nothing changed with us except we aren't _us_ anymore.”

“I wanted to _try_ ,” Mitch says. “I wanted to at least give it a shot, and you—” He stops and shakes his head. “Sorry. That—sorry. It isn't just you. That's not fair.”

“It's not unfair,” Shawn says quietly. “I was kinda stupid.”

“You were _really_ fucking stupid,” Mitch says. He picks the onions off his pizza. 

“Don't hold back or anything,” Shawn says, but he smiles a little because he deserves it. He _was_ really fucking stupid. 

“You _were_ ,” Mitch says. “Like. Who gives up a great thing just because you're in different time zones and different countries nine months out of the year?” He leans forward on his elbows. “We were a _great_ fucking thing, Shawn. We could've made it work.”

“At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do,” Shawn says. “In hindsight—”

“In hindsight, it was fucking weak,” Mitch says. 

“Why do you call me every time you have a date?” Shawn asks, carefully. “You never talk to any of the guys about it first. Always me.”

“I don't trust anybody with that stuff like I trust you,” Mitch says. He won't look up from his plate, and he's quiet for a long time before he does look up, and he says, “I don't want to call you about any of these stupid dates anymore.”

“I thought you weren't going to go on any more of these stupid dates,” Shawn says. 

“I’m not, because I think we deserve another shot,” Mitch says, his voice firm and his eyes clear.

Shawn isn't sure he heard correctly. “Sorry, what?”

“I want to give it another shot with you,” Mitch says. “I don't want to go on any more dates unless they're dates with you.”

“You,” Shawn holds Mitch’s eye contact, and he gets chills. He laughs a little. “Mitch.”

“It was stupid to give up, and I should've fought harder,” Mitch says. “I wish I'd tried harder to show you we could do this right. I really believe that we’re worth fighting for.” 

Shawn watches him. Mitch believes things harder than anybody Shawn has ever met, and if Mitch believes they can do this then Shawn isn't really sure he'll be able to say no. “It's going to be fucking _hard_ , Mitch.”

“I don't care anymore,” Mitch says. “Nothing can be harder than trying not to love you. Loving you has always been fucking _easy_.”

“Oh my god,” Shawn says softly. He feels short of breath. “Mitchell.”

“Shawny,” Mitch says, smiling. 

“You've _gotta_ stop calling me that,” Shawn says, laughing, and his vision starts to blur a little around the edges. 

“Listen, it's not my fault you have a name that's immune to nicknames,” Mitch says, and he hooks his foot around Shawn’s ankle under the table. “Cut me some slack.” He takes the biggest bite of pizza that Shawn's ever seen and grins.

“You are revolting,” Shawn says, laughing a little, and Mitch chews with his mouth open because he knows it drives Shawn crazy when he does it. “Oh my god, that is fucking _disgusting_.”

“So,” Mitch says, once he's swallowed his pizza like he's someone who knows how to behave in a restaurant, “we’re done being stupid about this, right? You and me?”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “yeah.”

“Okay, good.” Mitch gets up from his seat and moves around to the other side of the table and presses his knuckles against Shawn’s shoulder. “Move over,” he says softly, and Shawn slides over towards the wall without even thinking about it. 

Mitch slides in next to him and sits so close that they're pressed together from shoulder to ankle. “I see you've learned nothing about personal space,” Shawn says softly, but he doesn't move away. 

“What's yours is mine, what's mine is yours. You know how it goes.” Mitch puts his hand on Shawn’s knee, looks up at him and smiles, easy and charming. 

And it's not like Shawn has any other choice but to kiss him, so he cups Mitch’s chin and kisses him. 

Mitch makes a quiet little noise of surprise but he kisses back, sliding his hand around the inside of Shawn’s knee and squeezing softly. Shawn feels the parts of his heart click into place, and feels suddenly and surprisingly whole.

“I really wish our first kiss had been after I could brush my teeth,” Mitch whispers when he's pulled back to take a breath. He blinks slowly at Shawn with his stupid eyes and Shawn thinks, _fuck_. 

“This isn't our first kiss,” Shawn whispers back. His heart is racing and he can barely remember his own name. It feels like their first kiss. 

“It's our second first kiss,” Mitch says. He rubs his thumb across Shawn’s chin. “I just wish it hadn't been oregano flavored.” 

Shawn smiles. “I mean, we can pretend this one didn't count, if it means that much to you. Have a do-over once you can get your hands on an Altoid or some gum.”

Mitch sighs an extremely dramatic sigh. “No,” he says. “It's fine.” He reaches across the table and pulls his plate over. 

“Oh my god,” Shawn laughs. “Stop.” 

Mitch looks up at him and smiles. “I'm _joking_ ,” he says, “take a chill pill.” He laughs at himself. “Marleau says that to me all the time, I love it. Makes me laugh.”

Shawn feels like he'll never stop smiling. “Weird, that somebody would say that to you,” he says.

“I know, right?” Mitch says, and he laughs again. “I don't think I'm _that_ bad.”

“Nah,” Shawn shakes his head. “I mean, I like it. You're optimistic, it's charming.”

“That's all that matters to me,” Mitch says, smiling. 

“You wanna come back to my place?” Shawn asks softly. “It's cold out, I live close by, you know.”

“You don't have to give me bullshit reasons why,” Mitch says, just as soft. “I'll come back, yeah.”

&

On the walk to Shawn’s place, Mitch whines about how cold he is for a full block before Shawn rolls his eyes and wraps his scarf around Mitch’s neck. “Thaaanks,” Mitch says, smiling big.

Shawn takes Mitch’s hand. It's dark out, and the shops have started to hang Christmas lights; the world feels like magic. 

They stop off at a drugstore on the corner, and Mitch buys a pack of gum and a little tin of peppermints. He pops the tin open and crunches through about ten of them by the time they get to Shawn’s building. Before they go inside, Mitch tilts his face up to the sky and takes a deep breath. 

Shawn is freezing, but he waits anyway. 

“Smells like snow,” Mitch says to the sky, and then he looks at Shawn. “Wouldn't that be fucking beautiful?”

Shawn smiles, his teeth chattering. “Oh, hey,” Mitch says, and he unwraps the scarf from around his neck and hooks it around Shawn’s neck, and then he grabs the lapels of Shawn’s jacket and kisses him. This time he tastes of peppermint and snowflakes, and when Mitch smiles against his mouth, their front teeth click together and it makes Mitch laugh. It rings through the cold air like church bells, and Shawn thinks he could probably write a million songs about the way this makes him feel.

When they get inside, Mitch hugs Shawn’s doorman because of course he does, it's the same guy it's been since Shawn moved in. Mitch asks him about his kids and his wife, and if they still go to Florida for two weeks in February? Shawn gives them a few minutes to catch up and then, in the elevator, he waits until the doors close and turns to Mitch. 

“I just like people!” Mitch says before Shawn can say anything. “I can't help it!”

Shawn kisses him quick before the doors open on his floor. 

Mitch follows him into the apartment, quiet as Shawn turns on the lights. “Oh my god,” he breathes, walking over and standing in front of the picture window in the living room. “I can't believe I forgot about your fucking view.”

The CN Tower is lit up in blue against the sky. Shawn turns the lights back off and walks over, hesitating for a second before he presses a hand to the small of Mitch’s back. Mitch looks over at him and Shawn swallows hard. “You feel like home,” Mitch whispers. His eyes are sparkling. 

“I was stupid, letting you go,” Shawn whispers back. “I shouldn't have let you go.”

“Then stop letting me go, dipshit,” Mitch whispers, grinning in the moonlight, and Shawn grabs the back of his neck and kisses him.


End file.
